As Blue As Love Can Be
by M. Baggins
Summary: The story behind the mask: the life of Petyr Baelish. The lonely and dreamy boy, the best player in the game of thrones. From early childhood until adulthood, here lies his true thoughts and feelings. A boy taken, from the beginning, by a love as deep as the immensity of the sea, and as sad as its destiny. "I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair."
1. Prologue

This fanfic was originally written in portuguese.

The translation credits belongs to me and Helena (find her on tumblr: diaryofanobsessivefangirl).

**Chapter 1: Prologue**

_"Go, my son. Your grandfather would be proud. Go, you will see how everything will be better from now on; you will be raised by a great lord, who will provide justice to your full potential."_

_After these words, Lord Baelish leaned and gave his son a long hug. He whispered into his ears. "Listen, watch and learn. I'm giving you a chance with which I was never blessed. You will be much greater than me, my boy. Farewell."_

Arriving on horseback, after days of travel to Riverrun, he had past green pastures, large hills, forests and numerous villages. The boy was accompanied by Hoster Tully's brother and his entourage, which made the kindness to come pick him up. He remembered his father's last words once more, and felt simultaneously nervous, angry, rejected, abandoned, and apprehensive, and if that wasn't enough, moreover full of expectations. He loved his father as he loved the Fingers, his land, but, though he was very young, he also was smart and cunning enough to begin to understand that his little island and its tiny coast had no meaning to the world beyond his childhood. _Even to my father_, he thought, somewhat melancholy.

He had no idea of what he would find in this land of a lord so dear to his father; according to him, it was a great honor to have been chosen to be raised along with Lord Hoster Tully's children. Few would have the same opportunity since only some had the honor of being friends of Hoster Tully, heir of an enviable lineage, great lord of the Riverlands. Lord Baelish, his father, was not only of value to him in vassalage, but also loyal in the battlefield, and gave him a true friendship for all times.

A thin rain fell on the banks of the Trident. Now they were at the borders of Riverrun's castle, and a gray dawn was rising over the high ramparts. The young man watched the scene, while his skin felt the light touch of fine droplets of morning's drizzle. Meanwhile, the knights guarding the gates moved to make way for a more imposing figure.

The Tully Lord came in person to welcome them, followed by his squire, Maester and some others which the boy could not recognize just by one simple look. He was surprised with such courtesy, since the arrival time was a little early. The Lord then greeted his brother and the members of the entourage who accompanied him, and gave a slight and cordial smile to the boy, who realized that the time for presentations would take place within the castle. They passed by large gardens in the midst of still larger groves, surrounded by creeks, shady trees and beds of high-backed flowers, blue and red, disposed over very green lawns. There was great diversity in the plants and gardens arranged there. Everything was incredibly well maintained and inspired wealth. They walked through white stone trails arranged with all delicacy on the lawn, and so they were taken to the Great Hall.

They entered by a very high, lapis lazuli gate, with bronze details. Inside there was a makeshift breakfast table, placed especially for the newcomers travelers. The boy devoured with his eyes the room he had just walked in, greatly astonished; there were countless banners with the Tully's colors and the leaping trout, in a red and blue background. By the walls and countertops one could see the typical decoration of the south-central regions of Westeros: light and thin wooden furniture, deep upholstered and many rich metals, serving as framework and ornamentation. Lots of silver, bronze and gold was there from the cutlery to the frames of the age-old paintings. It was an old and luxurious environment, and one could see that the family took its motto very seriously. The most disturbing details were the several Tully lords's large oil portraits that overhang widely in the large stone walls. _Family, duty, honor._ His father had taught him some little knowledge of the Tully's habits and history and, indeed, he was not entirely wrong. After being thrown in such new and different place, compared to his house in the Fingers, he felt very nervous and couldn't even eat.

He was so out of his mind that, later, he didn't quite recall the presentation's rites to his new Lord and the vows of loyalty and vassalage. Despite providing all them well, with the best bearing he managed, the memory of Lord Tully, proud and noble, was mingling with his father's sad face, simple and melancholic, when he bid farewell, leaving him with the last glimpses of the Fingers. The worst was the feeling that he was left at the mercy of the Tully family's ostentations, that, after everything, seemed to swallow him entirely, as if it were screaming at him to obey them, bow in his insignificance and serve them. What could he do? He was merely a young boy, ten years old, and, with certain bitterness, he thought: _I feel like a fish out of water._ He made an ironic smile, just like the ones he would do in the future, that would become classic traits of his personality.

After completing all the duties and formalities, he was led to his room. Over there, another surprise: it was located far from the castle's main bedrooms, and next to not very noble parts: the castle's pantry and kitchen were found almost neighboring to his chamber, and, to top it off, his room was practically on the ground floor. _Apparently, lucky me I'm not the dungeon's neighbor..._ Despite the young age, the boy was able to realize what this meant. He could be a guest, and an aggregate of the castle's lords, but he was not, and never would be, from the same family of a Tully.

He went to bed, longing his father and the simplicity of their lands. At least, there, he was able to feel that he belonged somewhere...

He woke up a few hours later, so he searched for a servant to explain what he should do, but no one answered his call. Surprised, he glanced through a chink in one of the windows and realized that it was already morning. Birds twittered and sang around him. _Mockingbirds. _He recognized the small thrushes flying around, and felt a bit more comforted. _At least they also sing where I was born._ As his suffered rejection decreased, he dressed up and decided to stroll through the gardens until he'd meet someone to tell him what to do. He passed the yet empty kitchen, and went down by one of the back doors.

Walking through the woods, without envision anyone, he found an oak tree by the river and decided to sit down there to observe the landscape. _At least the same sky contemplates my land too. _It was, now, cerulean blue, like the color of the clean river that passed before him. Contemplative, he remained daydreaming for some time, until he get out of his torpor when he heard voices and noises coming: muffled laughter and sounds of running feet.

\- No, Cat, I told you, it's your turn to be the monster! I want to be the maid again! Stop being evil and act like a nice sister! – Protested a red-haired and slightly plump girl with freckles on her face and wide eyes. The other girl, to whom she was addressing, was approaching further, not yet visible to the boy's eyes.

\- Lysa... Stop being spoiled, we aren't already playing this for a long time, we played for one hour untill we quit. Why don't we go together looking at the birds and gather some pretty flowers, for a change?

The girl who spoke came over, stepping out from behind a bush. She wore the same dress as her sister, but she was slimmer and higher, with a kind face like a porcelain doll. She smiled a little upset, her eyes sealed, as if she was impatient and having fun at the same time. Then she opened her eyes, and lifted her gaze.

It made the boy feel as if time had suddenly stopped.

There, bewitched, in a mesmerizing stupor, he stared at them: deep eyes, charmed. Blue eyes, of a tender cerulean blue. Lakes of beauty and, the boy now realized, in such a sweet and naive way... Eyes of the love that filled him, and in those waters he would be forever drowned.


	2. Childhood and the Lost Innocence

After months, the boy started getting used to the customs and idiosyncrasies of the Riverlands, day by day. He spent most of his time together with the Tully children: Catelyn, Lysa and Edmure, the three siblings. Among them, the one who had won his affection was the eldest sister. With strong personality, the little ginger was intelligent, dedicated and fun. She was the most kind to him, though Lysa preferred to insist on approaching him, which greatly irritated the boy. He had always been an independent child, with no brothers and sisters. Why now would he appreciate the company of a spoiled brat, demanding that much attention from him?

The only boy, Edmure, was jealous of him, it was evident. Petyr noticed that Edmure would rather be the only boy, since he always tried to stand out, to please his uncle Brynden and his father, and was not particularly talented at anything, so he became enraged with Petyr when he overcame him in some abilities.

Petyr was no master in the arts of war, or hunts and horseback riding; his bright spot was the logical thinking. Such activities were easy for him, almost came to be some kind of entertainment. He liked to play chess with uncle Brynden, and often won, which seemed to amuse him and disturb the man at the same time. — You're too smart for your own good — Brynden liked to say, between laughs.

But no one charmed him more than Cat. Without being close to his mother, without having sisters, the oldest Tully girl had conquered him at the first glance. The first time he had seen her beautiful blue eyes, the boy felt bewitched: he didn't understand why or how, but her presence changed everything. The rivers became prettier; the air, purer. The laughs shared with her were funnier, as well as their childish games, and even the most tedious lessons from Riverrun's Maester became more pleasant with Cat by his side.

Besides all that, she was also the smartest Tully child. He enjoyed playing tricks on her, but she often anticipated them, and laughed at the boy's disappointed face. They played charades, and she often bested him, which shocked him while she laughed at his surprise for losing. They also played chess, although she preferred activities in which everyone could play together, just the opposite of his liking. If he could decide, the other two siblings wouldn't even exist.

In short, Catelyn was the most empathic with him. Whenever he felt rejected or mistreated, it was enough to be near her to save his day. Cat wouldn't have to say anything, because she seemed to understand exactly what she needed to do to make him feel good again. All it took was a simple smile, or just seeing him in the distance, with his head down, and calling him happily: — Petyr! It's so nice to see you, come over here! — That was enough to warm his little young heart.

He kept all this thoughts to himself, of course, for he was afraid that she would knew how sensitive he really was. He also still didn't understand why, but he would never want to look weak in her eyes. On the contrary. He wanted to always appear strong; he preferred to treat her scratches and wounds himself when she hurt herself while playing with him on the outdoors. In order to do so, Petyr used to filch medicinal items from the Maester, to what she answered him at first with a scolding look, then with a mischievous smile, while they both laughed, accomplices of the shared frisk.

A remarkable occasion was when Catelyn got lost in the woods on the Trident's bank, out of the Castle limits, as she and Lysa have fallen behind the Tully family group and ended up taking the wrong track, stopping amidst a dense vegetation. On that day, it was Petyr whom rescued them, founding the two girls before the others. He didn't even know why he had gone there, but he simply _felt_ that Cat was lost on that path. They had a very strong connection, and the poor boy still didn't understand its power, to a relationship between a man and a woman.

Along their days passed; together, all four children attended the maester's lessons: reading, writing, calculating. He was the best child in both language skills and mathematics, but the maester pretended not to notice, which greatly annoyed Petyr.

_Is being smarter than them some sort of affront to the trout's motto?_ He ironically thought. Pretending to be unaware that Petyr knew the answers just to give time to the Tully children to respond, the Maester would congratulate them as if they were the first to answer, when they were correct.

Petyr also was not much assisted in war and hunting's lessons. He had the company of the castle men, but in spite of uncle Brynden, the others treated him with a cold and distant cordiality. If he hit a stroke, they would praise him. But if Edmure striked, they would almost scream: _"This boy is a real Tully"_, they used to loudly say.

The Baelish boy only received real attention and praise from Cat and Lysa, the last with no relevance to him, although her words were always sweet. He had the impression that Lysa was some kind of obstacle to the special affection that he had only for Catelyn, but he still couldn't actually understand all this intuition.

In contrast, Cat didn't even had to praise him. It was enough to be granted with her smile and sweet looks, which she always addressed to him, with her affable and beautiful blue eyes. He always felt powerful only being awarded by those gestures.

They camped together, played together, swam together. One time they were taken by Hoster Tully for a short family trip, on horse; one of their destinations was Oldstones, where Catelyn remembered the song of Princess Jenny, with the flower crown. She said for Petyr to expect her by a tree, and, meanwhile, Catelyn picked lots of flowers and put them in her hair.

— Petyr! Look! I'm Jenny of Oldstones, with the flowers in her hair! — She took a spin around herself, shaking her hair, closing her eyes. Petyr looked at her enthralled.

— Princess Jenny — he corrected her. Petyr knelt down, took her right hand and granted her a kiss. Smiling, he said: — Then I will be Duncan, your Prince of Dragonflies. I came for your aid, my beautiful lady, so we can get married! — Catelyn laughed joyfully.

— Then you have to win me on a race! — Catelyn laughed even loudly, running through the fields with the boy after her, both filled with happiness. Her crystalline laughter reverberating in his ears.

When she lost her breath, the boy, who was slightly lower than Cat, reached her and tried to hug her. She broadly laughed again, and began to run away, until both finished tired, lying on the ground, gasping with their frolic.

Cat had lost all the flowers placed in her hair, dropped around as she ran, so Petyr stood, reached the nearest one and placed it gently stuck in her locks, next to her left ear. He was staring at her with his hands in her hair, and something in his face must have denounced him openly because the girl blushed a lot and looked away.

Petyr laughed, finding her reaction so sweet.

— Do not worry. I won't do anything ... Unless you _really_ want me to be your Prince of Dragonflies.

The girl blushed even more, getting the color of her fiery red hair in her cheeks, and hid her face in her hands.

— Stop joking around, Petyr, you're embarrassing me! — she said between her fingers, in a muffled voice. He laughed again, finding her so sweet.

_If you knew how much I'm not kidding, maybe you wouldn't be as comfortable as you are now…_

Now that he had grown a little and felt like a little man, Petyr not only found Catelyn gentle and beautiful, but _truly_ beautiful. Above all, he desired her fervently.

Meanwhile, Cat sang a melody, lying next to him: one of those silly songs of naive girls.

— I loved a maid as fair as summer, with sunlight in her hair! I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair… I loved a maid as white as winter, with moonglow in her hair! I loved a maid as spry as springtime, with blossoms in her hair…

_I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair..._ Petyr closed his eyes, wishing that moment would never end.

But all this puerile happiness was not enough. Sure, Cat was the joy of his days, his best friend and the loveliest girl he had ever known. He believed that one day would come for them to get married, and was sure she would want him to marry her because she seemed to enjoy his company more than any other.

Often she was that person who would wake him to the doings of the day, which made her father, Hoster Tully, furious, so she always did it furtively, in order to avoid Petyr getting grounded. He thought, naively, that there would be no one better than her throughout Westeros.

However, the shared affection within the two best friends did not protect the boy's feelings of rejection in Riverrun.

_It seems that they constantly insist to remind me that I don't belong here..._ He usually thought, since he came to those lands. Before turning eleven years old, sometimes he cried at night, missing his father and the Fingers.

Over time, he grew stronger; the boy begun to forget Lord Baelish's face, and barely remembered his parting words. Also, he started to reciprocate the cold courtesy that he received from the Tully by the same meanings, no longer wanting to belong with their family. He convinced himself that one day they would see what a great lord he would become.

Inadvertently, the boy told his goals to Brynden, the only one who treated him like family, and noticed that the conversation had left the alleged uncle severally worried. That hurt Petyr, so he decided not to trust Brynden without thinking twice, as he had before.

A day marked in his memory was around his twelve years old. Catelyn was only a little older. It was a festive occasion, although he did not yet know why, and everyone was gathered in the Great Hall, as also some guests, great lords of neighboring lands. At one point, Hoster Tully rose from his stately chair, with a silver cup in his hand, using it to draw their attention.

— Dear Lords and Ladies: my cousins, uncles, brothers and beloved children! — Petyr smiled bitterly, realizing that he was not mentioned. After all, he was only the aggregate.

The Lord continued. — The honor to make an important announce was given to me: as the seasons change, and the flowers by the river grow and blossom, the same happens to men and women. My daughter Cat is already a young woman, and, as we had already much discussed among our families, we can officially announce that her hand is promised to Brandon Stark, the eldest son of the family coming from the Winter King's lineage. She will soon reach the proper age to the celebration, as the running of the river tells. — He smiled proudly for her daughter, who was sitting a few seats to his right, and said: — Let's drink all together, then! And get the party started!

Petyr was suddenly taken by a vertigo. He was consciously sitting in a stone cold chair, with hard stability, rich and soft padded. However, he felt as if he were in some sort of free fall. He could not believe what he had heard, and yet, it was only a simple fact that he hid from himself for lots of years.

_How obvious_, he thought, his hands shaking in their cutlery. _It was obvious from the start. How could I be so foolish..._

There was no chance of an insignificant heir to a mere piece of land lost in a miserable island as the Fingers to be able to marry a great heiress of a lineage as noble and ancient as the Tully's. Everything he once dreamt was only foolish and childish dreams, more stupid than the mendacious songs he heard the silly people sing.

Petyr had to swallow his crying. He almost felt like he would start to burst into tears like a small child, right there, in plain sight, if for a second he allowed himself to show his true feelings. He looked with cold hatred to Hoster Tully. _You stole my father, my land and now my Cat_. His gaze followed all the Tullys and noble guests.

_Curse you all._ No matter who, could be the own Dragon King in person to ask for her hand, no one would be better for Catelyn than he was. Petyr was the only one who knew her shy smiles, and her girly secrets. No one but him shared her shenanigans around the castle, or did pranks on the septans. No one else was her accomplice and her best friend. No one else was her Prince of Dragonflies, and she was his Jenny, his Cat in Oldstones, with the flowers in her hair… His maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair.

At the end of the festivities, he desperately wanted to find Cat; he needed to talk alone with her, to tell her anything that could possibly convice her to tell her father to cancel her engagement. He was sure she would not want to marry a Stark that she had never even seen. There had to be some solution.

_Or there wasn't_? Very upset and hurt, he walked into the Godswood, trying to find the children in their typical hiding place, where they would meet in the late hours when they should actually be in their beds.

In the distance, he distinguished the sound of three voices. He approached stealthily, to make sure they wouldn't find him there.

— ...I wish I had seen his face. You know, I have nothing against _Littlefinger_, but Cat, I'm sure he likes you — said Edmure between fun and worried.

— Stop it! _Littlefinger_ is very smart! He knows he can't marry Cat, she is the eldest daughter, and comes from a much better line than his. She needs to keep the Tully blood running clean and noble — snapped Lysa, spiteful.

— You two! Stop it you two. This nickname is horrible! And of course he and I know we can't get married. Petyr is my best friend, and always will be. But that does not mean he could be my fiancé. — The boy's heart jumped in his chest, discerning Catelyn's clear voice.

— Oh, Cat, stop being dull. This nickname is genius! You stifled your laughter in the day that I and Lysa came up with the nickname, when we discovered that Petyr is heir to the lower house of the Fingers. _Littlefinger_. It says a lot about him! — Edmure giggled. — Because he's also skinny and short. — Petyr could hear Lysa hold back her laughter. The only one not amused at his expense was Catelyn, who also did not show any happiness with her sudden engagement.

— Enough of this subject. You two look like idiots. I will not let you disrespect him in front of me, he's a great friend to both of you, so you should recognize this and not make fun of him. As for whom I should marry or not, now, don't be foolish. — Cat's voice was firm, resolute, serious. — You know our motto. Family, duty, honor. This means that we do not take this kind of decision alone, we must do what is best for our family. And in this case, the best choice is my marriage to Brandon Stark... — Petyr, hidden behind a tree, saw Catelyn looking hard at her own hands, as if she was trying to convince herself of what she said. It would be fear, anger or even anticipation that she felt now? He could not say.

— What matters is that one day Petyr will marry a woman who is good for him, as Brandon Stark will be good for me.

Petyr could not stand to hear another word. He ran, sobbing, no matter who would listen, or even if someone could possibly chase him. He felt that something in him had just died.

Pieces of memories passed through his mind: his father hugging him goodbye, uncle Brynden putting him on his back and playing horsey, Edmure fighting him hitting wooden swords as them both laughed, Lysa hugging him tight and trying to get him out of the floor, and Cat...

Cat with the flower crown, Cat singing beside him, Cat smiling, Cat crying, Cat giving him the mockingbird in his open hands, and the kisses he had stolen from her in their playing behind Godswood's trees, and the first time he saw her when he came to Riverrun, her eyes, her deep lagoons of cerulean blue.

_Why, Cat? Why? You do not even know this damned man who wants to steal you from me..._ He allowed himself to drop another tear, the most anguished of all. It fell down from his face, which now was full with pain and hatred.

His dark side, latent within him, sometimes showing in restrict situations, such as when he frightened Brynden Tully, grew stronger now. Petyr had always known deep down about what he was capable of, but now, more than ever, everything seemed to emerge, and negative thoughts took care of his overloaded mind, hot as if it was about to combust.

_All of them. All of them, without exception, know that you are a joke. That's what your father gave you. He could have given you a hat with bells that would be more merciful. This was the father who claimed to love you. These were the brothers that life has given you, and this is the land that you deserve, with all its valuable reward. Clap your hands, applaud the Fool Littlefinger, the most pathetic of the Trident!_

He stumbled at the river margins, and fell headlong to the ground. When he raised his eyes, his face was cold and hard, in a shade that certainly would scare his uncle Brynden.

_I will never forget it. They will all see. They've taught me the most important lesson... They'll see how great I'll become. "Littlefinger" will crush them slowly, one by one._ He closed his hands so hard that he drew blood from his own palm.

_Cat will not marry that damn Stark, let the white walkers take him and kill him slowly. I guarantee that, whatever the cost._


End file.
